


open arms for broken hearts

by ceteiq



Series: "and a place to rest my head" [14]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Seduction, Caring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fear, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Mpreg, Parent-Child Relationship, Past Abuse, Past Prostitution, Past Rape/Non-con, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexually Transmitted Diseases, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:15:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27129787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceteiq/pseuds/ceteiq
Summary: A gift fic based on my fic "and a place to rest my head"Jaskier isn't stupid. He knows that Geralt isn't helping him purely out of the goodness of his heart, knows that Geralt's kindness has a limit, just like everyone else's. He's not quite sure where that limit lies, but he'll find it eventually. Even if Geralt seems annoyingly determined to convince him it doesn't exist.(Or, the first few weeks after he and Geralt meet, Jaskier constantly expects the worst. It never comes.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: "and a place to rest my head" [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719994
Comments: 133
Kudos: 423





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So a lovely person recently requested me to write this for them, and gave me permission to post it here on AO3 as well. Thank you to them!
> 
> It's set the during first month or so after Geralt rescues Jaskier from Szymon's inn, and it's basically going to be several chapters of Jaskier expecting Geralt to be awful in one way or another, only to be pleasantly surprised when Geralt repeatedly shows himself to be a good, kind person through and through.
> 
> NOTE: It's not 100% compliant with the main fic’s events/timeline tbh, but it basically takes place sometime between chapters 6 and 11, and there won't be any glaring conflicts unless you have every event of the main fic memorized lol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings:** jaskier offering sex to geralt, jaskier kissing geralt without permission, mentions of past rape and abuse

Jaskier can't sleep.

He'd offered Geralt a blowjob earlier in an attempt to pay him back, and Geralt had turned him down. "No, I don't need you to pay me," he'd said. "Sexually or otherwise."

To be honest, it had felt reassuring at the time. But now, as Jaskier lies in the bed that Geralt paid for, in the _room_ that Geralt paid for, he recognizes Geralt's claim for the hollow lie it almost certainly is.

Because Jaskier isn't stupid. He knows that Geralt isn't helping them purely out of the goodness of his heart, knows that Geralt's kindness has a limit, just like everyone else's. He's not entirely sure where that limit lies, but he knows it'll arrive eventually— probably sooner rather than later.

And when it _does_ arrive, well. Geralt is going to want sex.

Which is fine. Jaskier would be perfectly willing to let Geralt fuck him if it meant he'd stick around and continue to pay for the inn and food and occasional toys for Rian.

What worries Jaskier is the possibility that Geralt _won't_ fuck him— that he'll continue to wait for Jaskier to "want it." And that, when he realizes Jaskier will in fact never truly want it, he'll leave rather than take Jaskier by force.

(There's another possibility too, of course— the possibility that Geralt isn't interested in Jaskier at all, but rather in _Rian_ , and that someday while Jaskier is sleeping... But even considering such a thing brings Jaskier to the brink of a panic attack, so Jaskier pushes that possibility from his mind for the time being.)

He takes a deep breath and focuses his attention on the two more likely options: eventually Geralt will fuck him, or eventually Geralt will leave.

What's clear is that the second eventuality needs to be avoided at all costs, because if Geralt leaves, Jaskier and Rian are utterly, royally screwed. Bethelda is a sweet woman, but surely she wouldn't let them live at her inn without paying. And like Szymon always said, who in their right mind would ever hire someone like Jaskier, an omega with a four-year-old son and no skills except taking it up the ass? No one.

So Jaskier has to keep Geralt from leaving. Which means he has to convince him that he _wants_ to be fucked, that he's not offering sex out of a feeling of obligation but out of a genuine desire. 

And that should be doable, right? Plenty of customers at Szymon's were eager to believe that Jaskier wanted it, wanted them. Jaskier is good at flattering and begging and acting like a dirty little slut.

Tomorrow morning, he decides. Tomorrow morning he'll come onto Geralt so hard that Geralt won't be able to turn him down. And with that thought in mind, Jaskier falls into a fitful sleep at last.

***

He wakes up on and off throughout the night, sweaty and shaking, plagued by nightmares as always. Finally, just as the sun begins to rise outside the window, he gives up on sleep. He sits up in bed, glances around, and—

Fuck.

Geralt is staring at him. Fucking Geralt, always awake, always alert.

Jaskier forces himself to hold his gaze, hoping against hope that he doesn't smell afraid. Because this is it. This is his chance to convince Geralt of how badly he wants his cock, before their conversation from last night can embed itself too firmly in the witcher's mind.

"You alright?" Geralt asks, sounding concerned, but also like he doesn't want to overstep.

Jaskier nods automatically, then stops. Shakes his head.

"Bad dream?"

"No. No, um. I dreamed you were fucking me," lies Jaskier. But it sounds convincing, if he does say so himself.

"Jaskier, I told you, I'm not going to—"

"But I want you to," Jaskier cuts in. "Please. I want you inside me."

"What?"

Jaskier gets out of bed and makes his way over to where the witcher is sitting cross-legged on the floor. He unbuttons his trousers and lets them drop to his ankles, then kneels down in front of Geralt. "Please," he repeats, reaching for Geralt's waistband to unbutton _his_ trousers as well. But Geralt grabs his arm gently, frowning. 

Jaskier wishes he could read his mind, gauge what he's actually feeling. But he can't. So he just continues, more desperately: "I _need_ you. I need you to fuck me," he says. "Please, you're so fucking sexy, with your white hair and your chiseled jaw and your— your huge rough hands." He glances down at Geralt's hand, still closed loosely around his wrist. "Pin me to the floor, okay? Or against the wall. Whatever you want. Just treat me like the slut I am, please—" He leans in and presses his lips against Geralt's. "I need you so bad," he says, as he shoves his tongue into Geralt's mouth.

The kiss lasts maybe three seconds before Geralt softly pushes him away. "Jaskier," he says firmly, standing up. "Stop. I thought you understood me last night."

Fuck. This isn't working.

"I did," says Jaskier quickly, still knelt on the floor. "I understood that you won't fuck me as long as I don't want it. Except I _do_ want it, see?" He reaches again for Geralt's trousers, but Geralt stumbles backward, letting out a low growl.

"Stop," he repeats. "Stop this nonsense."

"It's not nonsense!" insists Jaskier. "I'm so fucking horny. And you are too, right? Don't you want this?"

"No," says Geralt, continuing to back up. "I'm not aroused in the slightest. And you aren't either, or I'd be able to smell it. Plus your dick would be hard," he adds, nodding at Jaskier's flaccid cock.

Jaskier scrambles to his feet. "Who gives a fuck about my dick?" he says, louder than he'd intended. He checks to make sure Rian is still asleep, then goes on more quietly: "This is about _you_. I want _you_ to feel good."

"Jaskier," grunts Geralt. "You know what would make me feel good?"

"What?" Jaskier pants. "I'll do anything."

"Sit down on the bed."

Jaskier obeys immediately, sitting down on the edge of the bed and spreading his legs.

"No, none of that," says Geralt. "Put your trousers back on."

Jaskier frowns. "Why?"

"Because I'm not going to fuck you."

"No, please—"

"Jaskier."

Jaskier shuts his mouth, tenses for a blow that doesn't come.

"You're scared," says Geralt. "I'm not sure what you're scared of, but for some reason you think it'll make you feel better if I fuck you." He pauses, then goes on, "I guarantee you it won't."

Jaskier looks away. 

"So put on your trousers," Geralt tells him again.

Jaskier tries to, but his hands feel strange. Numb. Shaky. And suddenly he starts to cry. "I can't," he chokes out. "My— my hands aren't working."

"Hmm. Then— then just get back in bed with your son. Pull up the blankets."

"I'm not tired," Jaskier says faintly.

"You don't need to sleep. Just lie down. I can leave the room if you like."

"No!" says Jaskier, because fuck, once Geralt leaves the room, who's to say he won't leave the inn too? Who's to say he won't ride off and never come back?

"Hmm. Alright," mutters Geralt. "I'll stay. Right here on the floor. I won't touch you."

"You won't leave?"

"No."

Slowly, Jaskier kicks his trousers the rest of the way off and draws his legs up onto the bed. He lies down by Rian, and, with trembling hands, pulls the blankets over the two of them.

"That's it," says Geralt.

Jaskier hears rustling fabric and creaking floorboards as Geralt sits back down on his bedroll.

"I don't know how many times I'll have to tell you this, but I'll keep telling you till you believe me," Geralt says then. "I'm not going to rape you."

"It wouldn't be rape."

"I'm not going to fuck you in any way."

"But you'd like to."

" _No_. As I've said, I have no interest whatsoever in fucking anyone who doesn't want it."

"What if I never want it?" whispers Jaskier, before he can help himself.

"Then I'll never fuck you. Simple as that."

Which is not the comforting statement Geralt evidently thinks it is.

 _You're an alpha,_ Jaskier wants to reply. _Alphas have no self control. You won't be able to hold out forever; eventually you'll have to leave to avoid giving into temptation. I'd much rather you just fucked me. Please._

But all that comes out is a sob. Because Jaskier is tired. He's so fucking tired. And so scared, and so ashamed, and—

"Jaskier, what is it that you want me to say?" asks Geralt. "What will make you feel... better? Safer?"

"I want you to fuck me so you won't get tired of waiting," Jaskier chokes out.

"Hmm. But I'm not waiting," grumbles Geralt. "I have no expectation that we'll ever be involved, uh. Sexually."

Which is bullshit, so Jaskier ignores it. "And if you won't fuck me," he says, "then I want you to promise that— that when you do get tired of waiting, you won't leave without making sure that I have somewhere to work and that Rian will— that he'll grow up safe and happy. That's all I want. That's all I fucking want."

"I'm not going to leave you."

Jaskier rolls onto his back, his hands pressed to his face. "You asked what I wanted you to say, and I told you, and now won't even— you won't—" He breaks off.

"Hmm," mutters Geralt. "Fuck." There's a pause. Then Geralt clears his throat. "I promise, Jaskier, that if I ever have to leave you, I will do everything I can to ensure you are provided for. I'll talk to Bethelda. I'll talk to every damn person in this town if I need to, I'll make threats, I'll do whatever it takes. Neither you nor your son will want for anything."

Jaskier sniffles.

"But I won't leave," Geralt adds.

And Jaskier _knows_ that it's not true, he does, but—

But maybe, just maybe, there's some stupid, tiny, teeny-weeny part of him that believes it, because he stops crying. He curls back up beside Rian and closes his eyes. 

Eventually, he falls asleep.

And this time, he stays asleep until noon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings:** discussion of past physical abuse

When Jaskier finally does wake up, he lies there blinking for a few seconds, trying to get oriented.

Then he sits up in a panic, because shit, the sunlight streaming in through the window is not the watery glow of dawn, but the strong, warm rays of the early afternoon. He overslept. _Shit_.

He glances around, and his eyes land on Geralt and Rian, who are sitting together on the floor in front of Geralt's saddlebag.

"What's this?" Rian is asking, holding up what looks like a rumpled item of clothing.

"Change of trousers," says Geralt.

"You have two trousers?"

"Mm. Yes. In case one gets bloody or torn."

"I never had _any_ trousers at Szymon's," Rian says. "But now I do, huh?"

"Indeed," grunts Geralt. Then he turns his head, meets Jaskier's eye. "Good morning, Jaskier," he says.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to sleep so long," Jaskier blurts out. "I know it's my fault; I just— I'm sorry. It won't happen again." Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Rian curl in on himself and start sucking his thumb, obviously fearing the beating that Jaskier's about to receive. Jaskier wonders if Geralt will let Rian leave the room for it. He hopes so.

But Geralt just shrugs. "It's nothing to apologize for," he says, sounding troubled. "I'd imagine you were exhausted."

Jaskier stares.

Geralt holds his gaze for a moment, then glances at Rian. "Hmm," he mutters, once again meeting Jaskier's eye. "I gather Szymon... punished you? For oversleeping?"

"I had morning chores," mumbles Jaskier.

"Hmm," repeats Geralt. "Well you don't anymore. Here, you may sleep for as long as you like."

Jaskier says nothing, just watches as Geralt turns his attention to Rian and says to him, gently, "Rian. I'm not going to hurt your papa."

Rian frowns, lifting his head, and continues to suck his thumb. "You're not?"

"No."

"But even though he was a lazy bitch?"

Jaskier feels himself flushing, but Geralt seems unfazed. "Your papa isn't lazy," he says. "He just needed some sleep."

"But he didn't do chores downstairs," Rian whispers.

"His chores were with Szymon. Not here," says Geralt.

"Oh." Rian straightens up slightly. "So you won't hit him?"

"Never."

Rian looks to Jaskier then, as if seeking reassurance.

Jaskier forces himself to smile. "Looks like today's my lucky day, huh?" he says, and he starts to leave the bed, only to stop when he realizes he's still half-naked from earlier.

"Hey Rian?" he says, "can you come over to this side of the bed and find my trousers for me?"

Rian obeys readily, handing him the trousers, and Jaskier pulls them on under the blankets. Then he gets out of bed and scoops Rian into his arms. Rian giggles.

Jaskier tucks a curl behind his ear. "Tomorrow I'll wake up on time and maybe we can get breakfast, okay?" he whispers to him.

Rian nods. "Like today!" he says. "Me and Geralt had porridge!"

Jaskier hadn't expected that. "You did?" he asks.

"Yeah! 'Cause he asked if I was hungry and I said yeah and then we had breakfast!" Rian cranes his neck to look at Geralt, who's sitting on the floor, his eyes lowered. "Right, Geralt?" he asks excitedly.

"Hmm," grunts Geralt. "Yes."

"And Papa," Rian goes on, "now we're looking at his bag! It's got lots of stuff in it! Like bags of coins! And extra trousers! And carrots for Roach! Remember Roach?"

"I do," says Jaskier, smiling in spite of himself.

He kneels down on the floorboards by Geralt, still holding Rian, but Rian wriggles out of his arms and plops himself down right by the bag. "Geralt, can I keep looking?" he asks.

"You may," says Geralt, but he's staring at Jaskier, his expression unreadable.

Jaskier looks away, focuses his attention on Rian, who's now rummaging in the saddlebag. 

"What's... _this_?" he asks, withdrawing a deck of cards, bound with twine.

"Playing cards," says Geralt. "For Gwent."

"What's that?"

"A game."

"Can I play?"

"Someday."

"Okay, good." Rian drops the bound deck unceremoniously onto the ground, then pulls out a pair of scissors from the bag. He gasps. "These are sharp!"

"Yes. Be very careful," Geralt cautions.

"Papa's not allowed _anything_ sharp 'cause he might kill Szymon with it," says Rian. "That's what Szymon says. So Szymon cuts me and Papa's hair and he always pulls it."

"Is that so?"

"It was a stupid rule," Jaskier mutters. "Why would I kill him? I mean, I might have dreamed about it, but it's not like we'd have had anywhere else to go if he'd died."

"Hmm," says Geralt. "Seems to me that Szymon was a coward."

"Yeah," agrees Jaskier bitterly.

"Coward means not brave," Rian says sagely. "But I'm brave. And Papa is brave too, I think."

"That's very true," says Geralt.

Rian hands him the scissors. "You can keep these," he says, and he plunges his hand back into the bag. A few moments later he pulls out a smaller bag, made of burlap, and—

Fuck. Jaskier watches in horror, unable to move, as Rian begins to shake the bag upside down, emptying it of a multitude of small glass vials.

They tumble to the floor, colliding with each other, shattering to pieces.

" _Get back_ ," Geralt growls instantly. "Get away!"

Rian scurries toward the far side of the room, still clutching the now-empty bag, and Jaskier stumbles after him.

"Stay there," Geralt says, and shit, he sounds so fucking serious.

"Rian," Jaskier says urgently, as Rian starts to cry. "Go downstairs, okay? Go find Bethelda. Tell her we need a broom and a bucket and a rag, and then stay down there with her, alright? Just stay with her."

"Papa—"

"Shh, Rian. Go find Bethelda."

And this time Rian must sense how important this is, because he nods through his tears and does as he's told, fleeing the room without looking back. Jaskier shuts the door behind him. 

Then he turns to face Geralt, who's breathing hard, his brow furrowed.

"I am _so_ sorry," Jaskier says. "Geralt, I'm so fucking sorry, but it wasn't his fault, okay? He's only four; he didn't know any better, and— I'll talk to him, I promise. It won't happen again, just—"

Geralt scowls. But Jaskier steels himself, takes a step forward, and continues, more quietly: "I'd, um. Could you not hit my stomach? Because of the baby. And I'd appreciate it if you avoided my face too," he says. "So Rian won't see the bruises. It's just— he gets worried."

"No," says Geralt, a strange expression on his face. "No, I'm not going to—"

"Okay, I'm sorry, forget it," Jaskier says hurriedly. He bows his head, stares at the broken glass lying on the floor in a puddle of spilled liquid. "You can hit my face; it's fine. I'd really prefer if you still didn't hit my stomach, but—"

"Jaskier, stop," says Geralt, as Jaskier starts to take another step forward. "Stay there."

And if Jaskier didn't know better, he'd think he sounded... concerned?

He lifts his face a fraction of an inch.

" _Fuck_ ," says Geralt, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fuck. I've really fucked this up."

Jaskier stands there frozen as Geralt sighs deeply.

"Jaskier, listen to me," Geralt says then. "I'm not angry. I'm not going to hurt you."

Jaskier doesn't respond.

"Jaskier, I swear. I'm not angry," Geralt repeats. "I was— very worried. These potions, they're toxic to humans. Deadly, even. I thought— I thought that you and Rian might be killed. It was... upsetting." He sighs again. "I don't— hmm. I don't respond well. When I'm upset. But I'm not angry."

Jaskier frowns. "You're not?" He doesn’t exactly _seem_ angry, but how could he not be?

"No."

"The potions aren't, like, valuable?"

"Some are, but. Fuck, they're just potions."

Jaskier chews the inside of his cheek, unsure what to say.

"You... fuck, you still think I'm going to beat you," grunts Geralt eventually.

"Well, yeah. I mean. You are, right?"

" _No_."

Jaskier frowns. "But I deserve it."

"No, you don't. Fuck," says Geralt. "You've never deserved it before, and you certainly don't now." He inhales slowly. "I would never beat you, Jaskier. Or Rian. Never."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't hurt innocent people," says Geralt hotly. "Szymon beat you because he was a fucking coward, as we've established." He pauses. "I am not a coward."

Jaskier hesitates, then nods. "I know that," he says.

"So you believe me?"

Jaskier shrugs. "I guess so." He doesn't, not exactly, but what else can he say?

"Hmm," huffs Geralt. "Well, I suppose it's a start."

They both stand there in silence for a few moments.

"I— I can get the cleaning supplies," Jaskier volunteers at last. "And I can clean up the mess; it's the least I can do."

"Did you not hear me say these potions are fucking toxic to humans?" snarls Geralt. "You can fetch the supplies, but I'll do the cleaning. And while I clean, you'll go back downstairs. Get some lunch for yourself and Rian. Tell Bethelda I'll pay her back."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." He sounds like he means it.

So Jaskier nods. "Alright," he says quietly. "I'll— I'll go then." 

He backs toward the door and opens it up, his eyes trained on Geralt. He's not sure what he expects— perhaps that Geralt will change his mind and come charging toward him in a violent rage?

But Geralt does no such thing, just stands there with his eyes averted and his jaw clenched.

So Jaskier leaves the room. Shuts the door. Walks down the hall.

He feels strange, almost dizzy, and his neck and wrists and ribs are still tingling in anticipation of a beating— a beating that part of Jaskier still expects to come.

But maybe... it won't? Maybe Geralt will find other ways to punish them— less painful ways, ways that don't leave marks.

It would be so fucking nice, Jaskier thinks, to be able to cuddle Rian without either of them being covered in bruises. He lets himself imagine it for a moment. 

Then he wipes the tears from his eyes, takes a deep breath, and heads downstairs to find Rian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! let me know your thoughts; i'd love to hear them!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings:** past physical abuse

When Jaskier reaches the common room downstairs, he finds Rian sitting on Bethelda's lap in a seat near the bar, clinging to her and sobbing.

"Oh Jaskier, sweetheart, what's happened; is everything okay?" asks Bethelda, as soon as Jaskier reaches them.

"It's fine," says Jaskier hastily, but his focus is on Rian. He places a hand on his little trembling back and says, "Rian. Honey, it's okay. I'm not hurt. Geralt didn't hurt me."

Rian just reaches up for him, so Jaskier lifts him off Bethelda's lap and holds him close. "It's alright, Geralt's not angry," he says, rocking Rian gently. "Everything's alright."

"But did— did he hit hard or soft?" Rian asks, still sobbing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jaskier can see Bethelda stand up, but he avoids her gaze, just strokes Rian's curls and murmurs, "Shh, he didn't hit me. I said that, remember? He didn't hit me at all, I promise."

"But I broked his— his s-stuff," wails Rian.

"I know, but he wasn't angry. He was worried about us, because the potions that spilled were dangerous. But you're not in trouble. Neither of us are in trouble."

"But breaking stuff is _bad_ and means Szymon is so angry and hits you a _lot_. Like when I broked the plate, remember?"

"I know, but Geralt says he's different," Jaskier tells him, still uncomfortably aware of Bethelda's presence a few feet away. But Rian is what matters right now, and Rian is still crying. "He didn't hit me," Jaskier repeats. "He's not gonna hit me. He promised."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Oh."

And that's when Bethelda reaches out and touches Jaskier's elbow. "I'm sorry to interrupt," she says solemnly, "but I must ask: Are you quite safe, love?"

"I am," Jaskier tells her quickly. "Everything's alright, I swear. There was... a little accident. Rian was worried. But Geralt wasn't angry." He pauses. "What did Rian tell you?"

"Well, I wasn't able to get a word out of him except that he was scared and wanted to stay downstairs," says Bethelda. "Poor dear; I just tried to comfort him as best as I could, but I was worried sick. I wouldn't have waited much longer before going up to check on you." She hesitates, then asks once more, "But you're safe?"

Jaskier nods. "Completely. A hundred percent."

"Alright." Bethelda gives him a warm smile. "I'm very glad. But you'll tell me if that ever changes, won't you?"

And although Jaskier can't help but think that Bethelda would really be no match for an angry witcher, she seems dead serious. So Jaskier nods again. "I will," he says, feeling reassured in spite of himself.

"Good," says Bethelda earnestly. "Now, what can I do to help? Would you like me to stay here until Rian calms down a bit more?"

"No, it's alright, I've got him. He'll be okay." Jaskier strokes Rian's hair. "But, uh. We're going to need cleaning supplies," he says. "Did Rian mention?"

Bethelda shakes her head.

"Yeah. Some potion vials broke, and the floor of our room is now covered in glass and toxic liquid, so... perhaps a broom, plus some water and a rag?"

"I'll fetch them straight away."

"And could you bring them up to Geralt?" adds Jaskier. "Just— keep your distance, so you don't get too close to the potions."

Bethelda nods confidently. "Right. Of course. And I'll be back soon, okay?"

"Thank you," Jaskier says.

And Bethelda gives him a pat on the arm, then bustles off.

***

Once she's gone, Jaksier takes a seat in one of the wooden chairs and hugs Rian a little tighter.

His crying has mostly lapsed into sniffles by now, but he's still sucking his thumb fervently, still hanging onto Jaskier with a vice grip.

"Honey, are you still scared?" asks Jaskier.

"Yeah," mumbles Rian.

"You're scared that Geralt is angry?"

Rian nods.

"But he's not, okay?" Jaskier says. "I promise he's not."

"He talked in a mean voice."

"I know it sounded mean, but that's because he was _worried_. Did you hear what I said earlier? The potions in those vials were poison. That means they can hurt people. And he didn't want us to get hurt."

"Oh. 'Cause... he's not a meanie like Szymon?"

"Right."

Rian removes his thumb from his mouth. "Papa?" he whispers.

"Yes?"

"I— I thought Geralt was gonna make you _die_ ," Rian says. "'Cause he's super big with muscles, so I thought when he hit you then your whole skin would be a big giant bruise, and that means you die, huh?"

"Oh, Rian. I'm sorry," says Jaskier. "That must have been so frightening to think about, huh?"

"Yeah. So I cried really hard and I couldn't even talk."

Jaskier kisses Rian's temple, feeling very much like a failure. "You don't have to worry about that, alright?" he says. "Geralt isn't gonna hit me. Or you. He's not gonna hit either of us."

"Never?"

Jaskier thinks of what Geralt's face had looked like when he'd promised that he doesn't hurt innocent people, that he's not a coward like Szymon— pictures his golden eyes, soft and earnest. "Never ever," he tells Rian.

And he's surprised to find that it actually feels like the truth.

***

When Bethelda gets back from delivering the cleaning supplies to Geralt, Rian has perked up significantly.

She offers them lunch, and Jaskier accepts, promising that Geralt will pay her back later. She tells him there's no need, and returns a few minutes later with two bowls of chicken soup and two hunks of bread.

"Thank you," says Jaskier. "Rian, what do you say?"

"Thank you," Rian echoes.

"You are _so_ very welcome," Bethelda tells them. "Now, just holler if you need anything, okay?"

"We will," says Jaskier, smiling.

And Bethelda smiles back, then leaves to resume her work behind the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! i'd love to hear your thoughts in a comment!! <3
> 
> edit: if anyone wants to see the conversation that bethelda had with geralt when she brought him cleaning supplies midway through this chapter, i posted [a ficlet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27178396) of that! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted two chapters at once so if you haven't read chapter 3, read that first. :)
> 
>  **warnings:** jaskier becomes concerned that geralt is a pedophile and asks rian questions about their interactions. the questions are quite detailed and may be triggering. (obviously geralt is NOT a pedophile and has never behaved inappropriately with rian.) also— jaskier thinks back on one time at szymon's inn when rian did encounter a pedophile who touched his thigh, but nothing further happened because jaskier intervened.

"Remember when Geralt let me have breakfast?" Rian asks, as he slurps up his soup.

"This morning?"

"Yeah," says Rian. "I thought no breakfast 'cause you were sleeping, but Geralt said breakfast is for every day! 'Cause he said I gotta grow bigger." Rian looks over at Jaskier. "Do I?"

"Mm." Jaskier thinks of what a relief it would be for Rian to gain some weight. He finds himself staring at the sticklike little arm that Rian has curved protectively around his soup bowl, and imagines what it would look like with a healthy amount of fat on it. "I'd certainly like you to," he says.

"Yeah, me too!" says Rian, shoving some bread into his mouth. "'Cause I want to be big like Geralt. Papa?"

"What?"

"Geralt is nice. So that's how come I'm happy he didn't hit you. 'Cause then he wouldn't be nice anymore, and I really like him to be nice."

Jaskier nods. "I like him to be nice too," he says softly.

"Yeah, 'cause when he's nice he lets me sit in his lap!" says Rian.

Jaskier freezes, and suddenly he's back at Szymon's— he's just finished sucking Szymon off in the kitchen, only to reenter the main room and find three-year-old Rian sitting in the lap of some pervert. The man is stroking Rian's inner thigh, kissing his head, feeding him off his hand. Jaskier rushes over, snatches Rian away in time to avoid anything truly horrible happening, and carries him upstairs, but Rian protests the whole way: _Papa, he was nice! He was giving me food!_ _Why'd you make me leave?_

"Papa?" asks Rian.

Jaskier opens his eyes. "Yes?" he says hoarsely.

"Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, you, uh." Jaskier wills himself to stay calm, to not jump to conclusions. Maybe nothing bad happened this time. Maybe Geralt isn't like that man from Szymon's inn. "You said you— you sat in Geralt's lap?" he asks.

"Yeah," says Rian, nodding enthusiastically. "His lap is more soft than yours 'cause your bones are too pointy."

Jaskier frowns, and presses on: "Rian, did you _ask_ to sit in his lap, or did he tell you to?"

"I asked, 'cause I wanted to be tall."

"And... have you ever sat in his lap before this morning?"

Rian grins. "Last night!" he says. "When you were sleeping. And then I laid down by him."

Fuck. Jaskier's stomach drops. He feels like he's drowning. He tries to breathe deeply, tries not to panic, but it's really fucking difficult. "Rian," he says eventually, working hard to keep his voice light and level. "You're not in any trouble, okay? But I need to ask you some questions."

Rian's thumb is instantly in his mouth, but he nods. "Okay," he says.

Jaskier gives him what's meant to be a smile, but it feels more like a grimace. He shouldn't have left Rian alone with Geralt, not for a second. He should've stayed awake rather than risk it, no matter how tired he was. "Okay, honey," he says at last. "Did Geralt, um… did he touch you anywhere?"

"Yeah, he lifted me and carried me downstairs," says Rian. "'Cause I asked him lots of times and said please."

"Alright, but what about when you were sitting on his lap?"

"Then I ate porridge!" exclaims Rian. He pulls his thumb out of his mouth and pats his stomach with both hands.

Jaskier shuts his eyes. "Porridge is yummy, huh?" he manages.

"Yeah. I love it."

"That's good. But Rian, honey, did Geralt touch you anywhere when you were on his lap? Either this morning or last night?"

"Well I was just on his lap. Sitting there."

"But did he maybe... touch your leg? Your thigh?" probes Jaskier.

"No."

"What about between your legs?"

"Like my penis?" asks Rian, tilting his head to the side.

Jaskier's heart stops. "Did he touch your penis?"

"No, _I'm_ the only one that's allowed to touch my penis! And my bum, remember?" laughs Rian, as though it's a very silly question.

Jaskier nods. "That's right," he says. "That's exactly right." He pauses for a moment, allowing himself to feel some measure of relief, then goes on: "What about under your clothes? Did he put his hand into your trousers?"

Rian looks confused. "No."

"Under your shirt?"

"No. Why, to tickle me?"

"Did he tickle you?"

"No." Rian shrugs. "No tickles."

"Okay," says Jaskier. He inhales slowly. Maybe nothing happened after all? But he still has to make absolutely sure. "Now honey, did he ask _you_ to touch _him_ anywhere?" he asks.

"No. Like where?"

"Just anywhere on his body."

"No."

Jaskier nods. "Alright," he says. "Now Rian, what about last night, when you laid by him. Can you tell me about that?"

"Well, I got out of bed 'cause I waked up. It was like morning time I think, but dark, and you were sleeping. But then I saw Geralt was awake! So I went to him. And I sat on his lap. But then I got sleepy again so I laid down right next to him 'cause he was warm."

"Did he tell you to lie down like that?"

"No. He said I gotta go back to _bed_ , but I didn't wanna."

"And did he lie down too?"

"No, 'cause I think he wasn't sleepy."

"And did both of you keep your clothes on?"

"Yeah. Otherwise we'd be cold, Papa!"

"Right. That's good." Jaskier nods. "And when you were lying down... did he touch you?"

"No." Rian frowns. "I wished he would put his fingers in my hair like _you_ do. But he didn't. Can you do it now?"

Rian leans toward Jaskier, and Jaskier ruffles his hair. He sort of feels like crying, though he's not sure why. He blinks away the wetness in his eyes impatiently. "Okay, I just have one more question," he says then. "Have you and Geralt ever done anything that he said not to tell me about? Has he ever asked you to keep a secret from me?"

Rian taps his chin. "No."

"You can be honest if he did. He'll never know, I promise. And you won't be in any trouble."

"But he _didn't_ ," says Rian. "If he did I'd say _no_ , I'm not allowed to have _any_ secrets from you, Papa. 'Cause that's a rule, huh?"

"Yes," says Jaskier. "That's an important rule. C'mere, honey." And he gets out of his chair and pulls Rian into a hug, suddenly unable to keep his tears from falling.

"You ask lots of questions, Papa," says Rian, as he hugs him back. "Too many."

"I know." Jaskier laughs wetly. "I know, I'm sorry, honey. I was just worried that Geralt might have hurt you. But he didn't."

"I thought you said he'd never hurt us."

"I said he'd never _hit_ us," Jaskier clarifies. He wipes his eyes and sits back down in his chair. "Honey," he offers, "you want to come sit with me for a second?"

"It's not... bad?" Rian asks, his little brow furrowed. "To sit on laps?"

"No, it's not bad, don't worry," Jaskier assures him.

So Rian hops onto Jaskier's lap, and Jaskier holds him tight. "I said Geralt will never hit us," he repeats, "but there are other ways that you can hurt someone. I was worried he might have hurt you in another way."

"Oh." Rian lifts his chin to look up at Jaskier. "So is Geralt a Bad Man?"

"No, I don't think so," says Jaskier. "But we just have to be careful."

"But can I sit on his lap?" asks Rian.

"Yes," Jaskier says, carding his fingers through Rian's hair. "As long as you feel comfortable there."

"I do!" says Rian. "'Cause I like Geralt a lot."

Jaskier nods. "I'm glad," he says. "I— I think I like him too."

He'll talk to Rian more later, reiterate the rules about the private parts of his body, emphasize that he can always speak up if something feels strange. 

But for now, he's just glad that Rian is safe. 

Because Geralt may be able to provide things that Rian didn't have before— proper clothes and good food and baths and a fireplace— but only Jaskier can keep Rian safe. He always has before, and he always fucking will. He swears it to himself, then leans down and kisses Rian's cheek.

"I love you, Papa," says Rian, smiling up at him. 

"I love you too, honey," whispers Jaskier. "So much. _So_ much."

"Yeah. And guess what. Geralt's lap is softer, but I like yours more," Rian says simply. "'Cause you're my papa and you're the best."

And then, oblivious to the look on Jaskier's face, Rian kicks his legs happily, pulls his bowl closer, and goes back to eating his lunch, still seated on Jaskier's lap.

Jaskier just sits there, his chest aching. And, despite everything, he feels like— possibly for the first time ever— he really has quite a lot to be grateful for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks very much for reading! please comment and tell me what you thought! <3
> 
> p.s. i have added another chapter to the total (honestly there might be two more, but that would be the maximum)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, sorry i've been a bit absent but i had to evacuate because of a fire (thankfully the fire didn't end up burning any buildings) and then i got depressed loll what a life. but now i'm back!
> 
>  **warnings:** brief mentions of the fear of rian being sexually abused but nothing actually happens or has happened.

After they finish lunch, Jaskier carries Rian back upstairs to their room.

"Hi Geralt!" Rian calls out as soon as Jaskier opens the door, and he begins to squirm. "Papa, I want down!"

But Jaskier maintains his grip on Rian. "Is it safe?" he asks Geralt. "Did you clean up the spill?"

"Hm," grunts Geralt. "Yes. Should be fine now. Just don't touch the broom or rags in the washroom."

So Jaskier nods and sets Rian down.

"Hi Geralt!" Rian says again. He runs to Geralt and hugs his leg. "Papa says you're not angry even though I broked _everything_!"

"Your papa's right," says Geralt. "I'm not angry whatsoever. I'm very sorry for scaring you."

"It's okay," says Rian, his arms still wrapped around Geralt's leg. "And Papa said I can sit in your lap but you can't touch my penis," he continues matter-of-factly.

"Rian," says Jaskier sharply, as Geralt visibly blanches.

"I haven't— I wouldn't— fuck. I would _never_ —" splutters Geralt. "Jaskier, please—"

"I know," Jaskier assures him. He can feel himself flushing. "I know, don't worry. Rian said some things, and I thought maybe— But it was stupid. I'm sorry."

"I would never," Geralt says again, faintly, and fuck. Obviously they need to discuss this further.

"Hey, Rian," Jaskier says. 

Rian lets go of Geralt's leg and turns around. "Yeah?"

"I think it might be naptime," Jaskier tells him. "What do you think?"

Rian nods eagerly. "Nap!" he says, flopping onto the bed. "Lay with me, Papa!" 

So Jaskier gets into bed with him. Rian curls up under the covers, right against Jaskier's chest, and Jaskier hums and strokes his knobby little spine till he's asleep. Then he lies there a while longer, dreading the conversation he's about to have with Geralt. 

But finally he sits up.

Geralt is still in the corner of the room, just standing there, staring down at his hands.

"Geralt?" whispers Jaskier, and Geralt lifts his eyes.

Jaskier gets out of bed, careful not to disturb Rian, and joins Geralt in the corner.

"Hi," he offers. "So, uh..."

"Jaskier, I would never touch Rian inappropriately," Geralt says right away. "I would never do _anything_ inappropriate with him; I'm not— like that. I have no interest in that shit."

"I believe that," Jaskier says. "It's just— Rian talked about sitting on your lap and lying next to you, which made me, um... worry a bit. So I had to be sure. But he said nothing happened, and... I trust that that's true."

"It is," Geralt says. "I swear it; I— Hmm." He looks upset.

And suddenly it occurs to Jaskier that he's probably insulted. "I'm sorry," he says hurriedly. "I didn't mean to— I wasn't trying to accuse you or anything. I hope you're not offended. I just had to check, you know? It was nothing personal."

"Of course. I understand," says Geralt. 

And he sounds like he means it, but his face is frustratingly inscrutable, and Jaskier feels compelled to prattle on. "There were a few close calls, at Szymon's," he explains. "Nothing happened, but still, it's— it's something I worry about."

"Hmm," mutters Geralt, with a scowl.

Shit. "Now see, that was an angry 'hmm,'" says Jaskier, taking a step back. "You said you weren't offended, but you clearly are, and— Look, can we please just talk this through?"

Geralt's scowl deepens. "I'm not offended," he says. "And I'm not angry."

Jaskier flinches, and Geralt's expression softens. 

"Fuck," he grunts. "I mean, I _am_ angry, but not at you; I'm angry at the fucking bastards who— Hmm." He breaks off. "You said there were close calls," he says then.

"What, with Rian? Yeah, but— I told you, nothing happened."

"You must have been terrified."

"Well. Yes, I was," admits Jaskier, watching Geralt closely. "But all's well that ends well, and— Are you _sure_ you're not angry? Or at least a bit insulted? Because I did it again just now, didn't I?— Expecting the worst from you when all you've done is be kind to us, so—"

"No. I'm not insulted," says Geralt. "How could I be insulted when all you're trying to do is protect yourself and your son?" He pauses briefly, and lowers his eyes. "Of course I hope that... that in time, you'll come to trust me more, at least to some extent. But— until then, I understand why you're wary. It's the same reason why I expect to be pelted with rocks every time I enter a new town."

"People pelt you with rocks?" asks Jaskier, frowning.

Geralt shrugs. "That's beside the point," he says. "The _point_ is you needn't trust me any sooner than you're ready to."

Jaskier looks away, still frowning. "It... it might take quite a while."

"That's alright," says Geralt. "You can take as long as you need."

Which is a lovely little sentiment, and Jaskier appreciates Geralt saying it.

He only wishes that he actually felt convinced of its truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! comment to let me know your thoughts!!! i know this chapter was pretty short but there'll be another one coming soon; this fic will be 6 chapters in all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final chapter! :)
> 
>  **warnings:** 1) jaskier has an STD and there are descriptions of symptoms that may be a bit gross. 2) feelings of self-loathing and thoughts about hypothetical self-harm. 3) mention of injuries resulting from past rape. 4) jaskier mentally slut-shames himself. 4) mentions of past emotional and physical abuse, plus implication of past rape and forced prostitution. 
> 
> [ **p.s.** "the clap" is an old-timey/slang term for the STI gonorrhea, just to be clear]

A week passes, and Geralt seems dead set on earning Jaskier's trust.

He doesn't raise his voice or his fists, not once, not even when Rian spills an entire bottle of ink onto what seems to be Geralt's favorite chemise. "No matter," is his response. "The shirt was black to begin with, just like the ink."

Jaskier offers himself up sexually to him on separate three instances, more out of habit than anything else, but Geralt turns him down gently each time.

He continues to pay for the inn, three meals a day, and occasional gifts for Rian. 

Whenever Jaskier wakes up whimpering from a nightmare, Geralt offers words of reassurance in his own laconic way.

When an alpha interrupts their breakfast one morning and offers to pay Geralt for a turn with Jaskier, Geralt knees him in the balls, punches him in the face, and tells him to fuck right off.

And honestly, bit by bit, Jaskier feels himself becoming more relaxed. It's not that he fully trusts Geralt, not by a long shot, but at least he no longer wonders if Geralt will still be there when he wakes up the next morning. He stops flinching every time Geralt looks at him funny. He starts believing that maybe Geralt truly isn't lying when he says he doesn't expect sex in return for his generosity.

And then, one morning just before dawn, Jaskier visits the washroom, takes a piss in the chamber pot, and... it burns. 

And Jaskier knows what _that_ means: It means he's still got the clap. It means that leaving Szymon's inn didn't cure him. Which— fuck.

Grimly, resignedly, he squeezes the end of his dick, just to be sure, and sighs when an all-too-familiar white substance oozes out from the tip. It glints grotesquely in the candlelight, and for a while Jaskier just stares at it.

Then he wipes his hand on his shirt, pulls up his trousers, and leans against the washroom wall, trying very hard not to cry. 

Because Szymon had always said, quite plainly, that the clap is a disease for _whores_ , and that the cure is to stop being a whore. So Jaskier had assumed— naïvely, it now seems— that if he ever stopped fucking for money, the symptoms would go away for good. 

Except the symptoms _haven't_ gone away, they've come _back_ , which must mean that Jaskier is still just as much of a whore as ever— that no matter what he does, where he goes, how hard he tries to distance himself from his past, he'll _always_ be a whore deep down.

It's a surprisingly painful realization, and Jaskier has a sudden urge to douse himself in water so hot that it scalds every bit of his filthy, defiled skin right off his body.

And then an even worse thought occurs to him: What will Geralt say? 

Should he even _tell_ Geralt? He supposes he'll have to if he wants to get any medicine, which he definitely does. But fuck, the thought of confessing to Geralt what a dirty piece of shit he is...

Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut to keep any tears from falling. 

_You're not a whore_ , Geralt keeps telling him. _It wasn't your fault._

But the clap is proof that it _was_ his fault. That he _is_ a whore, down to his very bones.

He wonders how soon Geralt will leave after he finds out. Surely he won't want to associate with a disease-ridden slut for a second longer than necessary, but Jaskier does think he might be willing to buy medicine for Jaskier before he goes. He did buy him the scent suppressant potion the other day, and some witch-hazel for Jaskier's injured ass.

And even if Geralt's not willing to buy the medicine, perhaps Bethelda would? But of course there's a chance she'd just kick Jaskier out rather than risk her customers getting infected, because a whore with the clap can spread the disease to others— though Jaskier isn't sure exactly how that works, because somehow he's never passed it to Rian.

Jaskier sighs. He supposes his best bet is just to be honest with Geralt and hope for the best, however unlikely it may seem, but—

And finally Jaskier can't hold back his tears any longer. Once again, he has a strong desire to boil away his skin, or at least cut off his stupid infected dick. He feels so unbearably filthy, so stupid, so ashamed.

And that's when he hears the knock: three gentle raps on the washroom door.

Jaskier wipes his cheeks in a panic and clears his throat. "I'm using the chamber pot," he says hoarsely.

"You're crying," comes Geralt's voice from outside.

"I'm crying while using the chamber pot," babbles Jaskier. "Um. I find pissing to be very cathartic."

"Hm."

"I'll be out in a minute."

"Hmm."

Jaskier wipes his cheeks again, then his eyes. He takes a deep breath. He won't tell Geralt right now, he decides. Maybe tomorrow. Or later this week. Or next month. Szymon always said the clap would kill him if left untreated, but a month should be okay, right? 

At last, Jaskier opens the door, and there's Geralt, his expression unmistakably concerned even in the dim candlelight.

"Hi," Jaskier says. "Sorry for the wait." And he tries to squeeze past Geralt's shoulder, but Geralt catches him by the arm.

Jaskier winces, tensing up in preparation for pain. 

But Geralt doesn't hit him. "Hmm," he says instead. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You smell... very upset. And you were crying."

"I told you, it was a lovely, cathartic urination experience," says Jaskier, forcing himself to smile.

Geralt releases his grip on Jaskier's arm. "I won't force you to talk if you don't want to," he says. "But I'm— Hmm. I'm here. If you change your mind."

 _Thank you, but I won't_ , Jaskier intends to say. But all that comes out is a sob.

"Hmm," grunts Geralt, as Jaskier sinks to his knees, his hands pressed to his face to muffle the sound of his crying.

Then Geralt crouches down beside him. He doesn't say anything, just touches Jaskier's back, only to quickly withdraw his hand when Jaskier flinches at the contact.

A few long minutes pass before Jaskier manages to get a grip on himself, but finally he dries his eyes and lifts his face. "Sorry," he mutters.

"Hmm. No need to apologize," is Geralt's reply. "Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

"Not really."

Geralt hums lowly.

"But, um." Jaskier sniffles. "I think perhaps I should, because I'll have to eventually, so..." He inhales deeply, musters up his courage, and says: "Okay. Uh. So you know how, um... when a whore is exceptionally dirty, and exceptionally slutty, and too much cum builds up inside them... there's a certain disease that they develop?"

"I can't say I've ever heard of such a thing happening, no," says Geralt.

"Alright, well... it does happen," Jaskier tells him. "And it... it happened to me. I've had it for years, but the symptoms just came back tonight, and— It's called the clap."

"Wait, the _clap_?" repeats Geralt. And then, more quietly, "Fuck," he says. "Of course you've got the fucking clap."

Jaskier feels tears stinging his eyes. He scoots a few feet away from Geralt and pulls his knees up toward his chest. "So you _have_ heard of it," he mumbles.

Geralt sighs, and Jaskier braces for his judgment, braces to hear what a dirty, debased, disgusting little whore he is.

But all that Geralt says is, "Jaskier, I think you've been misinformed."

Jaskier frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that it sounds like Szymon fed you a load of crap to make you feel like shit about yourself. Because I'm no expert on human diseases, but I _do_ know that the clap is quite common, and gods, it certainly isn't caused by a buildup of excess semen."

"Then... what's it caused by?" asks Jaskier, still frowning.

"It's just— a disease. Like a fever, except it affects the genitals and it's spread through sex."

"Through sex?" echoes Jaskier, confused.

"Yes," says Geralt. "If you've got the clap, it's because someone who fucked you had it first."

"But Szymon said it always starts with a whore."

"Yeah, and Szymon was a lying piece of shit," Geralt says. "It can start with anyone. I was in a tavern once where a man talked my ear off for a good half hour about how he got the clap from his wife after she fucked a banker. None of them were whores."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, like I said, I'm no expert; human diseases don't affect witchers. But— yes, I'm reasonably certain. As far as I can tell, the clap is a great nuisance to humans of all walks of life, and difficult to avoid if you're having frequent sex."

"So... you think... a _customer_ gave it to me?" Jaskier asks numbly. "By fucking me?"

"That's right."

"And now I've got it for the rest of my life?"

"Well— no," Geralt says. "There's a potion that cures it. Fuck, did Szymon never give you the potion?"

"No, he did." Jaskier frowns. "But... he said it just made the symptoms go away for a couple of months, but that as long as I was still a whore, they'd always keep coming back."

"That's not my understanding," grunts Geralt. "As far as I know, the potion's expensive, but it _is_ a cure."

"Then why do I keep getting symptoms?"

"Well, I'd assume that you've simply had the disease multiple times. That your— your fucking _customers_ gave it to you more than once."

Jaskier is silent as he considers this. Geralt's explanation does make sense, he supposes, but so did Szymon's. And the thought that he's been misled all these years makes him feel disturbingly unmoored. He hugs his knees closer to his chest. "Would you... be willing to buy me the potion?" he asks at last, quietly.

"Of course," says Geralt. "Gods, Jaskier, why wouldn't I?"

"You said it's expensive."

"I have enough coin."

"That doesn't mean it's worth it," whispers Jaskier.

Geralt lets out a low, rumbling growl. "Jaskier," he says, "you do understand that you're not to blame for this, right?"

"But I didn't—" Jaskier feels a lump forming in his throat. "I didn't clean myself very well," he admits. "Szymon hardly ever let me properly bathe, and I'd try to wipe myself off, but the cum would get everywhere, and my bed was a fucking mess..."

"You're not to blame for that either," says Geralt. "Not one fucking bit. But regardless, uh. I don't believe that the clap discriminates based on cleanliness. If it did, I don't think so many noblewomen would be contracting it."

"Noblewomen?"

"Yes," says Geralt. "Even noblewomen get the clap. I've heard many a tale. It doesn't mean they're dirty, and it doesn't mean you are."

He says it so calmly, and with such certainty, that Jaskier almost finds himself believing it.

"You don't know half the shit I've done," he protests anyway, a bit half-heartedly.

"Hmm," Geralt replies. "Perhaps not. But I know enough to be sure that it doesn't matter." He pauses, then amends, "Well, it matters, but not... it certainly doesn't make you dirty. It doesn't reflect badly on you, not in any way."

Which is a nice thought. Jaskier doesn't believe that it's true, of course, but he believes that _Geralt_ does, and that alone is enough to make him tear up. "So you'll stay?" he asks, not even caring if Geralt can hear the emotion in his voice.

"Jaskier... of course I'll bloody stay," says Geralt. "You thought I wouldn't?"

"I thought you might be too revolted or something," Jaskier admits quietly. "I thought it marked me as, like, a particularly detestable breed of whore, and you wouldn't want to have anything to do with me anymore."

"I've told you, I'm not going to leave," Geralt says, and he touches Jaskier's shoulder. This time, Jaskier doesn't flinch. It's actually sort of comforting, truth be told— the fact that Geralt is willing to touch him even while he's still got the clap.

"I know," Jaskier says. "Or, at least, I'm starting to believe it."

"Hmm," hums Geralt.

"If it makes you feel better," Jaskier says, "Szymon used to beat the fuck out of me whenever my symptoms came back. But, um. I did know you wouldn't do _that_ , no matter how disgusted you were. And I did think you might buy me the medicine too, even if you ended up leaving."

"Hmm," Geralt repeats.

"I'm sure that doesn't seem like much," says Jaskier. "But— Look, I _want_ to trust you. I do. It's just..." He sighs. "Difficult."

"I know, Jaskier. I understand. There's no hurry."

Jaskier takes another deep breath, nods, and scoots a bit nearer to Geralt. 

Geralt adjusts his hand on Jaskier's back. "I'll get you the potion today," he says. "Right after breakfast."

"Thank you," says Jaskier, feeling a weight lift from his chest. It's going to be okay, he thinks. He's going to be cured. In a few days, his symptoms will be gone, and this time they won't come back. He sighs, then goes on, "And thank you for, um. Setting me straight about the clap. Gods, you must think I'm so fucking stupid for believing Szymon's bullshit, but..."

"No. You are _not_ stupid," says Geralt. He sounds angry, but Jaskier can tell the anger isn't directed at him. "Fuck Szymon. I should have sliced his fucking cock off before I killed him," Geralt adds in a snarl.

Jaskier smiles weakly at the suggestion. "It's okay," he says. "I'm just glad he's dead." He lifts his eyes to the window, fixing his gaze on the pre-dawn sky above the hills. "And I'm glad you're the one that saved us," he whispers. He inches yet closer to Geralt's side, so their shoulders are almost touching.

"Hmm," says Geralt. His hand, still splayed over Jaskier's back, tenses slightly, then relaxes. His touch is warm. Reassuring.

Outside the window, the sun crests the horizon.

And Jaskier lets himself exhale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some notes that no one probably cares about (warning for discussion of STIs): honestly, jaskier probably had one or more STIs almost constantly, but he was only aware of them when symptoms appeared, seeing as it was the middle ages lol. he even probably had one or more STIs during his pregnancy with rian, and just got lucky that rian didn’t contract anything from him during childbirth (which doesn’t always happen). also, the reason why he had symptoms affecting his penis even though he was never the one penetrating anyone during sex is that i’m assuming alpha cum often got everywhere, including jaskier’s dick, and he got infected that way. i did try to think this through lmao!
> 
> anyway, thanks so much for reading this side fic!!! please leave a comment to let me know your thoughts! <3 and i'll be back to updating the main fic shortly; thanks for tolerating this little interlude!


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